Freedom
by Yoda
Summary: A narrative account of The Last Alliance's battle on the slopes of Barad-Dur. My first LOTR fic and probably not very accurate. Constructive criticism is appreciated on this one...*COMPLETE*


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Freedom

Disclaimer: The realm of Middle-Earth and all inhabitants within are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien, this does not include any characters of my own creation who I claim by moral right only, acknowledging again that all forms of inhabitant were created by Tolkien. This prose is based upon a scene from Peter Jackson's film; 'The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring', and hence I disclaim any parts of the storyline that are not of my own original creation.

Dedication: This is dedicated to all who have fought for what they have believed, in particular Tom Riley and Henry Crate, rest in peace.

The desolation surrounded Elrond for miles, the black and fiery slopes of Mount Doom soared in the distance, lava belching hideously from the top of the symbol of the darkness that had swept over the realms of Middle-Earth, threatening to destroy all that he and others had built their lives upon. The sky overhead was dark and forbidding, twisted forks of lightning lit up the charred plain beneath him, the yellow flashes reflecting off the armour of his friends…and of his foes.

The black host was mustering on the cliffs surrounding the erupting volcano that dominated the skyline ahead of him, a dim and unnatural light shone off the armour and weapons that were bristling among the horde. A low chanting was emanating from the host, grunts and yells could be heard that had no meaning to the battleweary men and elves before them, as one they staggered back and forth, daring the warriors to charge but meeting only a cold resistance.

Behind him Elrond heard the ranks of bowmen removing their arrows from the quivers, notching them to string and holding their bows at the ready, as one they focused on the horde that was now standing, limbs unmoving all gazing ahead. A terrifying screech was heard over clamour of the storm and the mixed orc and goblin host lifted their weapons high, the blades clashing together forming a glittering hedge of steel…and death.

'Advance!' Elrond shouted, and the line of elven swordsmen marched forwards leaving their bowmen five paces behind, 'Halt! Archers will make ready!', behind him bowstrings stretched taunt and bows were elevated, silver-tipped arrows pointing towards the sky. The sound of a thousand booted feet sounded to the left in Elrond's keen ears, his eyes turned, and across the plain he saw the armoured men of Gondor marching towards the foot of the fiery mountain. At their head marched Elendil, the aged warrior held his sword low, eyes piercing the gloom ahead, to his right marched Isildur, his son and heir to the throne of Gondor. Together the father and son marched to end the threat to their kingdom, or die trying.

Returning his gaze to the horde Elrond's hand moved subconsciously to his sword, his grip tightening on the handle, but still he did not draw it, with a terrible scream the black host charged, swords and spears swinging wildly in the thundering noise. Shields were held forwards to add impetus to the already swift charge, then the first wave thundered into the men of Gondor, with a swish of steel the men drew their swords as they crouched behind shields, drawn back into the ranks Isildur and Elendil joined the first in throwing rampaging orcs over their shoulders. With a cry that filled his heart the warriors of Gondor charged into the host and the battle was joined.

Looking up Elrond saw the section of the horde approaching his elves, opening his mouth he held a breath then issued his command, 'DRAW!' pulling back further the elven bowmen prepared for the next order, 'FIRE!' and between the shoulders of Elrond and his warriors the arrows flitted forward, swift death on the wind. Seconds later he felt the wind whip his hair as the second flight was released, a third followed as the first descended into the ranks of the enemy, as if pulled back by invisible strings a hundred orcs fell, grotesque puppets pin-cushioned by the arrows of his command. But by the time the second flight descended into the host the forwards ranks had already advanced and were advancing on swift heels towards Elrond and the rest of the elf swordsmen.

'FIRE AT WILL' Elrond shouted over the rumbling and cries of the other battle, behind him he heard several bowmen sling their bows to draw swords and join the ranks of his warriors, 'HOLD!' he shouted as several swordsmen began to draw their glittering blades. Closer and closer the orcs came, foul faces filling his vision Elrond struggled to hold his own sword but his warriors all remained still, 'HOLD!' he shouted as the orcs charged forwards, wild cries issuing from their hideous visages. At fifty paces he turned so that his sheath was facing the rampaging horde, along the line several elves matched his manoeuvre while others simply pulled their sheaths to the side, twenty-five paces away the orcs began to regroup to form a massive wedge set on destroying the fragile elf line.

'DRAW!' Elrond shouted unnecessarily as the orcs prepared to smash into the line, as the first rank of hideous warriors began to through their swords downwards with such force that would cleave the elf armour in two. As one the entire front rank of the elves drew their swords with such speed and accuracy that the first rank of orcs was sent flying over those behind them, ducking swiftly Elrond felt the haft of the sword behind him stabbing forwards into the next orc bulling towards him. Rising from the ground he stabbed his sword upwards and spun round to send the blade deeply into the next orc beside him, with a thrust he sent his blade into the throat of the next orc who collapsed with a gurgle.

With a crash of armour an elf was sent flying to the ground, a bladed orc weapon protruding from his back, with a cry of rage Elrond charged towards the orc who was trying to remove the blade and instead found his head cloven from his neck by Elrond's attack. Spinning under another attack Elrond kicked an orc onto an elven spear as they advanced behind the swordsmen, whirling his sword out wide he parried the blow of another orc, then dispatched the creature with a swift stab to the chest. Clenching a fist he knocked back another orc splattering blood onto his armour when a loud crash made him look up from the fight in time to see a burst of light sending a crowd of Gondor swordsmen flying into the air with screams…it was Sauron.

Parrying another orc onto a spear he saw the cry of rage on Elendil's lips as he charged forwards to engage the dark lord, but with another great burst of light he was dismayed to see his friend's body thrown through the air like a rag doll. With a great crunch the old warrior fell at the foot of Mount Doom, with a cry of anger and sorrow Isildur charged forwards and was sent sweeping into the mountain with a blow from Sauron's fist to land beside his father. Concentrating on the fight playing before his eyes Elrond did not see the orc spearman charging him until too late, twisting aside he prepared for the punch of the blade but instead heard only the tangling of two blades and looked to see Gil-galad, his spear punched through the orc whose own had been thrown away.

'Come Elrond,' he cried and using his spear as a javelin the warrior cut a swathe through the orc ranks with Elrond behind, looking back he saw his warriors besieged on all sides, but then a roar from Gil-galad made him turn. With a sweep of his spear the elven king sent the blade deep into the armour of their enemy, but with a contemptuous swipe the armoured figure sent a gauntlet crushing into his neck, with an almighty force the elf was sent flying into Elrond, both landing heavily. Raising dizzily Elrond managed to spit an orc who was charging him, avoiding it's deadly lunge, kneeling down he looked into the eyes of the radiant star, but no gaze was returned, their king had fallen, the star was dying.

With a cry of rage in Elrond rose and swept his sword around, beheading the nearest orc warrior who charged in, more and more were trying to press in where Sauron had been and Elrond determined to defend his king to the end, and then the thunderbolt struck. With whirling shafts and spinning blades the elves of Gil-galad's spearmen came charging into the fray, cleaving orc limbs and sending the gruesome warriors to the ground, their blood spraying into the air. Amidst the carnage Elrond danced to a song of vengeance as his curved sword struck down any orc who attempted to near his king, looking up in a pause he saw the sword of Sauron raised above Isildur who lay beside his father, holding his shattered sword as Sauron prepared to deliver the last, deadly blow.

Isildur struck with a desperate swing as Elrond watched, the remnants of his sword cut deeply into the armour on Sauron's hand, severing his fingers…from one of which fell the ring. A deafening quiet rang over the plain as seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, the glowing ring fell into the palm of Isildur, and with a tortured cry of anguish Sauron's suited form was banished. Primeval forces were unleashed from his body as the ring left and a shockwave passed over the battle field knocking but a few to the ground, around him Elrond saw orcs crumble away as their creator died.

For a while he did not even breathe, surely that was not the end? Around him the warriors of Middle-Earth picked themselves up, many staring at the piles of dust surrounding them, others watching as blades buried in their armour disintegrated into nothingness. 'Elrond,' a voice whispered, and beneath him Elrond saw Gil-galad's lips move, 'Elrond…take Vilya,' he said, his fingers holding the subject, one of the three elven rings of power and with failing hands the Elf-King passed on the ring. Kneeling beside his king Elrond began to speak an elven blessing when Gil-galad breathed for the last time, and so the Second Age of the Elves ended.

Surveying the battlefield Elrond lifted his blade in salute to his warriors, turning he saw Isildur standing against Mount Doom, his armour shining brightly as he held his shattered blade high, directing his blade towards the new Dunédain Elrond saw it returned as a cheer rang out over the plain. Overhead the sun breached the clouds and shone onto the plain, the golden armour of the elves shone softly, the Enemy had been defeated and their way of life preserved…they had fought for their freedom…and they had won.


End file.
